Feeling Beautiful

My favorite little squirt was getting restless, so I pulled my little black comb I always keep in my pocket out for him to play with. Usually he likes to comb his hair. But today he wasn't in the mood, and just wanted to comb the worker's hair, but she was running around like a chicken with her head cut off as usual, so I asked him if he would comb my hair. He loved it! I took out my ponytail, and had all my hair down, and he was brushing and brushing for a good 10 minutes, with the wrong side of the comb, just kind of wiggling my hair around and around, getting it more tangled than it was before. But I loved it. He thought he was doing a good job, and he was fascinated with my hair. He probably hadn't ever really touched longer hair that was down before. Sometimes he would “comb”, sometimes he would just touch it and feel it. He even pulled it, but it didn't hurt me at all. Most of the time he went really slow, and was very careful. My hair was getting tangled, I was in blue scrubs with little fuzzies from the carpet all over me, I had no makeup on and my eyes were red from my allergies, but I felt so so beautiful. To be loved and treated like a princess by a child you love. I wonder if I have ever felt so beautiful in all my life. 

He also loves to look out the window while standing on the windowsill, but the workers are back and forth over whether or not it is okay because it's “Frig” or cold, and Romanians firmly believe coldness brings sickness. I had him up to the window yesterday, and she came back from her smoke and said, “Oh! Nu nu nu! Doctor nu e place. E frig.” The doctor wouldn't like it- it's cold. Of course. I said “Asa,” and started to take the kid down, but just to pull their strings a lot, I asked him, “Tu este frig?” Are you cold? He smiled super big and exclaimed, “Da! Frig!” He loves the cold. He lives his life in sweat. :) Anyway, so today I stood up and put one foot on that little shelf with all the toys and let him sit on my bent leg, so he could still see out the window, but he wasn't right up against the cold glass. He really wanted to get closer to the glass, but I wanted to respect the workers so we didn't. He still loved it. We pointed out the casa mare, big house, and machina, cars, and biserica, church, and soarele, sun, and the birds and the blue sky. He kept saying, “Uite!” Look! He loves looking outside at the beautiful outside air. After a while I asked him if he was gata, done, and he said “nu gata.” And he just sat there on my knee, looking and gazing out the window, for a long, long time. After a while he leaned his head up against my chest to rest while he kept looking out the window. I felt like I might melt in a puddle of love. I felt like a mom- like he was my little boy, and I was his mom. I felt beautiful again. 

Michael Jackson's "Heal the World" played on the radio, and I picked up my sweet little fetal alcohol syndrome girl, and we slow-danced and twirled around in circles with her in my arms, and she laughed and smiled the biggest smile ever. I almost cried from the shock of how much joy was filling my soul all at the same time. It was almost too much joy to handle. I felt beautiful again. 

There are many different kinds of beauty. I remember getting dressed up for prom, and feeling so special, hoping that in Bradley's eyes, I would be beautiful. But- that was more of a confidence that I looked good. 

The beauty I feel in the orphanage has nothing to do with how I look- because today I was in oversized dark blue scrubs with white fuzzies sticking to them all over, and no makeup, and my eyes were red from allergies. The beauty I feel is more of a confidence that my life is bigger than me- that my actions are helping the world in a way that makes my life worthwhile to another human being. That because I exist, a child is happier, laughs more, cries less, because I am a source of love and protection for them.

I think I like feeling beautiful in scrubs better.